Storytime
by MysticJadeShoe
Summary: Little America can't sleep, so how is teenage Britain going to help? Not slash, but a fluff-fic with a some brothers I adore.


**Something I was inspired to write! I hope you guys like it. (Quick clarification: NOT SLASH. I mean, this is _little_ Alfred.)**

* * *

><p><em>Squire Trelawney, Doctor Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island...<em>

Arthur settled comfortably into his reading chair and savored the one, beginning line. He loved this book.

_I suspect Alfred would like it too, if he gave it a chance..._ he thought. After all, little Alfred thoroughly enjoyed a good story, and this was all he could ask for. Adventure, pirates, traitors, sailing on the seas, treasure... He turned his attention back to his book.

_...from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17-_

"Arthur! AAAARTHUUUUR!"

He jumped in surprise at the shrill voice and slammed the book shut. _Isn't Alfred supposed to be asleep?_

A flash of blonde hair whizzed through the open door and leaped in Arthur's lap, now huddled in a small ball. He could just barely make out the ear of his small stuffed rabbit.

_I'm suddenly glad I didn't cave in to Alfred's wishes for a real pet rabbit..._

"A-Arthur! I had a horrible dream!" the pathetic voice yelled. "Everyone hated me! Everyone! Even you! And you all sent a monster to eat me! AND IT ATE ME! And when I woke up I heard noises in my closet!"

_Flying Green Mint Bunny..._

"Al, it's okay," he said, ruffling the small boy's hair affectionately. "There is no monster I have sent to eat you. There's nothing in your closet. And I'll never hate you."

Al's huge blue eyes peeked up over his arm. "Promise!"

"I promise," Arthur said solemnly, "that I will never hate you. Unless you don't go back to bed."

_Harsh._

"Wha - ? I can't go back there myself!" Al said, standing on his knees in Arthur's lap and grabbing and shaking his collar back and forth. "There's a monster _IN THERE_, and I saw it! I swear I really did this time!" He punctuated every syllable with a shake to make his point more obvious, whilst very effectively giving Arthur a headache.

"Okay, I'll go back in with you! Just stop shaking me!" Arthur replied hastily, pulling Al's hands off his collar. He settled Treasure Island to the side and picked up his little brother. Al clung to his shirt like his life depended on it as his older brother took him to his room.

Wanting to get this over with and get back to his book, he quickly walked down the hallway and into Al's room.

He flicked on the light and saw the wide-open door, the hastily tossed-aside covers. Al curled more closely to him, his little body tense. Arthur placed a hand on his back and walked to the closet.

"C'mon, Al. Let's look together."

He shook his head, still clutching Arthur's shirt for dear life.

"On three..." Arthur whispered in Al's ear. "One... two... THREE!"

The closet door flew open and both looked around in it, two sets eyes flying around the dimly lit interior. While Al looked around at the empty closet, Arthur rolled his eyes at Flying Green Mint Bunny and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

"See? Nothing."

"Do some magic! He only leaves when you come!" the boy protested as he pounded his small fists against Art's chest.

"If I make a shield around your closet you won't be able to get in." He sighed and gave up the prospect of a peaceful night before he said: "You can spend the night in my room, but you're going back to your own room in the morning."

"Really?" Al asked, bright eyes wide with anticipation. "Alriiight! We're so gonna have an awesome time -"

"- sleeping. Now, you get into bed and I'll be back with a story," he replied, walking out of Al's room and turning the light off behind him. He put Al on the floor so he could run off to Arthur's room, then retreated to his reading room to get Treasure Island. He opened the book and buried his nose in the spine; it smelled like freshly-made, rich coffee.

Time to share this with Al.

When Arthur walked into his room, Alfred was hiding under the covers, his tiny body making highly noticeable lumps in Art's smooth blankets. He giggled and tossed his head out of the covers, yelling "Boo!"

"Ohh, you got me there!" he yelled in reply, picking his brother up and spinning him around. The boy giggled and let his dangling arms and legs swing around, around, around... until Arthur fell back on his bed, both laughing.

He never got the time to dote upon his brother. He was always busy running the people, or fighting with Francis, or making sure nothing was going wrong. Being a young country was hard.

It was little moments like these, where he could laugh and _act his age_ and play with Al, that kept him from going completely insane.

He ruffled Al's hair; Al wrapped his arms around Art's neck and buried his head in his chest, both still laughing like crazy, Al managing to say between giggles, "I got you, I got you!"

* * *

><p>Eventually they managed to calm down, though both were having a tricky time subduing the giggles whenever they looked at each other.<p>

"What's that?" Al asked suddenly, looking at the nighttable.

"What, this?" Art asked, still smiling as he pulled the book off of it. "It's a book."

"I knew _that,_ Farty Arty," he replied impatiently as he sat up and looked at it. "Which book is it? They're all starting to look the same."

"Before I tell you, I want you to do this," Arthur replied, ignoring his brother's remark and burying his nose in the book like before.

Al stared at him blankly. "You're smelling a book."

"Eh... yes, I am, so?"

"I dunno if you noticed, but books are for reading," he said, pantomiming opening a book.

"I know that," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes. "But I'm not telling you which book it is unless you smell it too."

"You're crazy."

"The best kind." He offered the open book to Al. Looking at his older brother reluctantly, he bent forward and let his nose touch the warm, smooth pages.

"It smells like coffee." He pulled his head back up and looked at Art. "What's so great about that?"

"It smells like a book," he corrected. "And everything is great about that."

"You're crazy," Al repeated, snuggling down in the covers as he did so. "I hope you know that."

"I do." Arthur pulled the blankets up and tucked them around Al's chin, then slipped under the covers himself.

He reached over to turn out the lamp, but suddenly Alfred grabbed his nightshirt sleeve. "Wait, tell me a story before we sleep."

"Mm? What story?" he asked.

"How about the one from that weird coffee-smelling book?" Al asked. "It's not one of those weird smoochy books you read, is it?"

"Romance novels, Al," Arthur corrected, flushing slightly due to the fact that Al remembered that he read those. "And no, it's not."

"Whatever." He snuggled deeper into the warm covers, eyes wide and expectant.

So Arthur opened the book at the very beginning and began to read in a low, musical tone, almost creating a lullaby as he read. He summarized some parts of the book and made some more fantastic than they had been written. He weaved the words of the book as one would weave threads to make fabric; up and down, across, and through his little brother's wild imagination. It almost wounded him to change a book like this, but Al remained wide-eyed and attentive, gasping at the betrayal of Long John Silver and giggling at the exaggerated eccentricities of the crew members.

He brought the book, which otherwise would have been long and tedious for his brother, to life.

Finally, he closed the book, reflecting on what he'd just done for his little brother's sake.

"Well, Al, how'd you like it?"

But his little Alfred was fast asleep, nestled comfortably in the covers, still clutching the sheets with anticipation. Arthur smiled.

"Good night, Al," he whispered, dropping a kiss on his head and turning out the light.


End file.
